


Disguised Affection

by avalonroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hate to Love, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5653909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and Arthur hate the very sight of each other.</p>
<p>At least, that's what everyone thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disguised Affection

The animosity between Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones had become somewhat legendary amongst the students of their university. And some of the lecturers too, so it seemed, Arthur recalled instances in the past where he had been approached by his lecturers and questioned as to how there was any ill feeling between him and Alfred—he was such a _lovely_ boy after all.

Psssh.

Six months ago, Arthur would have scolded anyone who had deemed it appropriate to use the words ‘Alfred’ and ‘lovely’ in the same sentence. Six months ago, Alfred had been far from lovely—no, he had been a prat. An irritating, nauseatingly _American_ prat with no apparent redeeming qualities.

Being assigned the room opposite said prat had been a loathsome smear across Arthur’s otherwise ordinary university experience.

Arthur had been civil when he had first bumped into Alfred in the hallway; both of them making their way to early classes, but the idiot had gone ahead and blabbed an unflattering comment about Arthur’s _perfectly normal_ eyebrows.

Nevertheless, after a lifetime of teasing, Arthur had developed a bit of a sore spot where his eyebrows were concerned and he had retaliated to Alfred’s ‘observation’ with an equal amount of venom.

He refused to accept that he had been too cutting with his maliciously spat remark regarding Alfred’s weight—evidently a tenderly harboured insecurity of the American’s—and whether Arthur’s counterattack had been accurate or not—it hadn’t, Alfred was disgustingly… _muscular_ —the American hadn’t liked it and, consequently, hadn’t liked Arthur.

That had been the first gunshot in the resultant barrage of bullets.

They had been vicious to each other. If they had been animals in the wild, it would have no doubt resulted slashes of claws and snaps of teeth.

As much as Alfred’s roommate, Francis—second only to Alfred in Arthur’s catalogue of exceptionally repugnant people—insisted that the sexual tension between them was practically a live sizzle of electricity and it was abhorrent to his refined French sensibilities to have to witness it, Arthur wouldn’t have any of it.

He had refuted until he had been blue in the face that he was even capable of being attracted to someone as beneath him as Alfred Jones.

Arthur had been attracted to Alfred—the universe wasn’t _that_ kind. But that hadn’t influenced his intolerance of the American, if anything it had made the man more infuriating. It was difficult to not to allow his temper to bubble over when the man he begrudgingly imagined naked with glorious vividness was also a complete arsehole.

Arthur had been perfectly content to go on his merry way, his hatred and desire of Alfred existing in chaotic harmony, but of course, he couldn’t have even had that.  
  


A party he had been unwilling to attend without hefty blackmail and several sizeable mouthfuls of whisky later had changed everything.

He had watched, fuzzily lethargic with strong liquor muddling his brain, as an uncoordinated Alfred had stumbled toward the corner Arthur had secluded himself in, the man obviously having indulged in a couple of beers, and Arthur had puffed up his chest in crackly anticipation, curious if a drunken disagreement would result in a full-blown fight with fists flying and legs kicking. They’d come close before despite Arthur’s wariness of landing himself into a brawl with Alfred—as much as it pained him to admit, Alfred _was_ bigger and stronger than Arthur.

“Bugger off, Jones,” he had cautioned, words blurring into one another.

Alfred hadn’t summoned any sort of retort, which had dragged a hint of alarm into Arthur’s mind, and the American had continued to amble towards Arthur, determination pulling a frown over his brow.

“I mean it, piss off! What do you think you're— _”_

“I don’t care anymore—I wanna kiss you.”

That had been all the warning Arthur had received before Alfred’s lips had crushed against his and large, warm hands had cupped his face, drawing Arthur closer. Arthur _had_ resisted at first and he had attempted to push Alfred away, but his body had betrayed him and he’d lost the will to fight—because how many times had he pictured that moment and not one of those imaginings had been nearly as good as really having Alfred pressed against him and _kissing_ him.

It had been rather embarrassing how quickly Arthur had found himself on his back with the American between his legs, igniting the most wonderful sensations in Arthur.

Of course, it had begun as an inebriated mistake and awkwardness had tamed their tempers for a few days, Arthur brimming with mortification and vowing he wouldn’t so much as look at Alfred again. Naturally, Arthur had ended up in Alfred’s bed for a second time, unapologetically sober, and then a third time, and then a fourth until Arthur eventually stopped counting.

What had bloomed as a relationship based entirely on fervent attraction and shagging at every possible opportunity transpired into bunches of Arthur’s favourite flowers being delivered from a ‘mystery person’, and long hours spent in bed just holding each other and dates under the stars and sweet goodbye kisses.

And just like that, Arthur was in love, desperate and giddy with affection, but he hadn’t been ready to concede and allow the world to know.

Both he and Alfred were heterosexual and sworn enemies to the public eye and Arthur hadn’t had any intention of ‘coming out’ before Alfred had come along and ruined everything.

So here Arthur was, sneaking into Alfred’s dorm room in the middle of the night, eager to see the American.

Alfred wrestled him into a hug the moment Arthur knocked on the door, the overgrown idiot knocking all the air from Arthur’s lungs.

“Francis is going to be out all night,” Alfred murmured into his ear. “It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”

Arthur felt warmth shimmer across his spine, iridescent and addictive, and his cheeks flushed.

“We had better put our time to good use then, hadn’t we?” Arthur said, feeling confident and feverish, raising an eyebrow suggestively at Alfred.

The American responded with his usual amount of startling enthusiasm, his grin boyish and wide but his eyes were dark and heated with all sorts of delicious promises, and he dove in to kiss Arthur, his hands creeping to Arthur’s backside.

Arthur was close, devastatingly close, when the sound of keys clattering about by the door stripped both Alfred and Arthur of their orgasms and the two of them stilled, panting and raw with sensation.

The door jolted open and a figure tripped into the room blindly, searching for the handle to close the door.

Arthur’s heart jumped up into his throat.

Francis was back early.

The Englishman panicked as Alfred lurched into action, snatching up the duvet and shoving Arthur underneath, tucked up against Alfred. It was sweltering within all the fabric and beside Alfred’s body, the man was like a bloody furnace, and the scent of sex and perspiration draped heavily in the stuffy air.

He heard Francis say in an incomprehensibly thick accent, “Forgive me, Alfred! I did not realise you were in the middle of something. Please don’t let me stop you.”

To which Alfred replied, “Uh, that’s okay, man. I didn’t realise you’d be home so soon.”

“Ah, oui, Antonio decided I was too drunk to stay out any longer. He is very beautiful but also very stupid, no?” Arthur heard shuffling and then Francis’ voice was much closer and tinged with mirth. “Another one of your clandestine paramours, hm? Who could it possibly be?”

Francis must have reached for duvet because Alfred jerked and pulled Arthur closer into him.

“It’s one of the lecturers so we’ve gotta keep it a secret,” Alfred informed, his tone wavering between humour and sincerity.

Francis laughed, ecstatic.

“Of course, mon cher, of course.”

The bed opposite Alfred creaked with the impact of a fully grown man flopping down into it and silence reigned over the room for several terse beats.

“He’s asleep.” Alfred whispered, removing the duvet from over Arthur.

“That tosser.” Arthur scowled, his blackened wrath directed towards the Frenchman before melancholy seeped into his mood and he was looking up at Alfred, reluctant to acknowledge that they wouldn’t be able to stay in each other’s company any longer.

“I’d better go.”

Alfred’s brow creased, his face downhearted.

“You could stay,” he said. “If we set an alarm, you can go before Francis wakes up.”

“You know that’s too risky, Alfred.” Arthur kissed the man, gentle and remorseful.

The American released a pained, whining sound and Arthur whacked him on the arm, both playful and disapproving.

“Don’t be a soft sod, we’ll find more time,” Arthur told him.

“I know, but I’m starting not to like this sneaking around and pretending not to be dating,” the American admitted. “It was fun at first but now I—… I kinda want people to know you’re mine. And I wanna be able to sexile Francis without him getting suspicious because, I swear to god, he freakin’ _senses_ when we’re gonna do it. He doesn’t believe that I’m sleeping with different people, you know.”

Arthur sighed.

“We won’t have to do this much longer but I don’t know if I’m… ready yet. I still haven’t told my family about my— _preferences_ and I’m assuming you haven’t either.”

Alfred ducked his head, turning his gaze away.

“No, not yet. But I will.”

“Once we’ve told them, we won’t have to hide our relationship anymore. I promise.”

Nodding, Alfred consented with an, “Alright.”

–

Arthur braced himself for the impact of Alfred walking into him and shoving his shoulder into Arthur’s collar, sending the Englishman wobbling about to stay on his feet. Arthur just about managed, his dignity barely intact, and he sent a toxic glare in Alfred’s direction.

“Watch where you’re going!” he hissed, more than tempted to stop on Alfred’s foot—they were acting, but nearly propelling Arthur to go toppling on to his arse was a tad too far and judging by the cocky smirk curving Alfred’s lips, he knew it too.

“Oh sorry, dude, didn’t see ya there. Probably cos’ you’re so short—like one of those little _lep-ro-corn_ things that you English guys are always talking about!”

“It is pronounced _leprechaun_ , and they originate in Ireland, _not_ England, you ignorant oaf.” Had Alfred not told gone into great detail about how ‘cute’ he found Arthur’s shorter height, Arthur would have been truly offended. “Besides, I’m not that short,” he retorted, but it sounded half-hearted, even to him.

Gilbert, Alfred’s nutter of a best friend, clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, you guys suck at this now! It’s like you don’t even hate each other anymore. I’m disappointed.” He thumped Alfred’s bicep with his fist and started wandering down the hallway, to his room most likely, calling out a casual, “See ya around,” before disappearing.

“Oh, poor Gilbert, he seems upset,” Francis piped up. “Though he does make a rather valid point, your arguing has been quite _lacklustre_ these days.” Francis winked at Arthur, who wrinkled his nose in distaste at the Frenchman. “It’s almost as though the sexual tension has vanished— _poof, au revoir._ Very peculiar, indeed.”

Francis followed after Gilbert, a smug grin stained across his face until he too was no longer in sight.

“I’m not above poisoning that repulsive cheese of his, or kicking him in the shin until he cries,” Arthur growled out. “Insufferable _frog_.”

“Yeah,” Alfred said, chuckling. “Something tells me he’s on to us.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

“He should keep his bloody nose out,” Arthur groused, turning to his door.

“Hey,” Alfred said, squeezing his shoulder. Arthur moved round to face him. “Are we still on for tonight? Kiku’s still going out, right?”

“Yes, surprisingly.” Arthur’s roommate was something of a hermit. Arthur had scarcely seen him off his desktop, doing God knew what. “We’re still on, if you still want to, that is…,” Arthur added, annoyed by his own diffidence.

Alfred slipped his fingers under Arthur’s chin and tilted his head, staring into Arthur’s eyes.

“I always want to see you,” the American stated, his smile soft and genuine, before he planted a daring kiss on Arthur’s lips—daring because they were standing out in the open.

“Alfred, we’re in the hallway—!” Arthur swatted him away, attempting but failing to suppress a grin. “Off with you, you pest.”

–

It was a Tuesday morning which meant both Alfred and Arthur and their roommates left for class at the same time and despite their trying to avoid one another, they usually congregated in the hallway and ended up walking to their respective classes together. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it once had been but the four of them were an unlikely group and the conversation traditionally resulted in Francis’ doing most of the talking—usually about romantic gossip and Arthur’s fashion choices.

That morning, when Arthur and Kiku walked out in the corridor, they collided into an uncommon occurrence—Alfred and Francis arguing with each other.

“—could have at least checked on your side of the room! There’s no point of me even going to class if I can’t see anything!” Alfred exclaimed, his face drawn with annoyance.

He looked different somehow and it took Arthur a moment to recognise what was missing—his glasses.

“I _did_ check my side of the room, there were no glasses to be found, my stupid American friend. You might want to take into consideration that you’ve lost them _outside_ of the room,” Francis responded, calmer than Alfred. “You had four classes yesterday, did you not?”

  
Wait… hadn’t they… Arthur remembered seeing a pair of glasses when he had woken up or he might have been dreaming. It would be like Alfred to forget something, but Arthur couldn’t be sure if he had seen the glasses, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night with Alfred sneaking out of his room and making a ridiculous amount of noise. It was a blessing Kiku slept as though he was under heavy sedation. Arthur had tested the heaviness of his slumber with exceptionally loud punk music a few months earlier.

“Yeah, but—”

“Your glasses are on Arthur’s desk,” Kiku spoke up, his voice composed and quiet enough to almost be inaudible. Three sets of eyes zeroed in on Kiku and the man visibly wilted under the scrutiny. “Forgive me but I’m sure they are yours. You usually leave something when you stay with Arthur. Last week it was your wallet, but Arthur returned it to you the next morning. I remember.”

“Uh, I don’t think they’re mine, Kiku, I haven’t ever stayed with Arthur.” Alfred forced out a tense laugh. “Must be mistaking me for another one of Arthur’s nightly visitors.”

His eyes danced with desperation as he looked at Kiku but the Japanese man didn’t seem to register the emotion for what it was.

Arthur shifted his weight, uneasy.

“Please wait,” the Japanese man instructed before unlocking his and Arthur’s room and stepping inside.

Arthur’s pulse thrummed in his chest, a deeply rooted apprehension creating sickly waves in his stomach. He’d neglected to think of Kiku as a risk. The man barely left the room, he had no idea he and Alfred supposedly hated each other or that their relationship was covert—that, or he was intentionally unearthing their secret.

He was going to splay the truth of their relationship for everyone to see, splattering it right across everyone’s greedy gaze.

Francis was glancing between him and Alfred with the most horrendously thrilled glint in his eyes, pinning the two of them down like a mouse under a cat’s paw.

Kiku emerged from the room with Alfred’s glasses in hand.

Arthur’s heart plummeted into the pit of his belly.

Kiku offered the glasses to Alfred and, struck silly with disbelief, Alfred accepted them, holding them in his hand as if he didn’t know what their function was.

“Those are yours, aren’t they?” Kiku questioned.

“…yeah. Yeah, they are. Thanks,” Alfred responded in subdued mumbled.

“It is no trouble, Alfred.” Kiku bowed his head. “I do not wish to be rude but I don’t want to be late for my class.” He dashed off with a suspicious amount of speed, leaving Alfred and Arthur with Francis.

The man continued to grin and the sight of the Frenchman looking so _bloody_ pleased with himself grated on Arthur like nails scraping over a chalkboard.

“Well, out with it then! You were right, we’ve been shagging this entire time, bravo, you must feel so proud of yourself!” Arthur folded his arms across his chest, scowling with searing ferocity. “Come on; get your bragging out the way, I have a class to get to.”

To Arthur’s astonishment, Francis wasn’t quick to speak; rather he retrieved his phone from his pocket and checked the time.

“Hm. Yes, we’re ten minutes late. We’d better hurry up.”

He turned, as if going to walk off, but stopped so he could look back at Arthur.

“Oh, and Arthur, I’ve known about you two since that party all those months ago. If you wanted to keep your relationship a secret, I’d be tempted not to make Alfred’s bed in the future. Alfred never does it so it looks a little, eh—… _suspicious,_ you could say. But that is only a tip from a humble _connoisseur_ of romance.”

Much like Kiku, Francis was gone with impressive swiftness, leaving Arthur on the brink of an ugly, enraged explosion.

“We are ‘sexiling’ him until the end of the year,” Arthur declared, voice dark and determined.

Alfred seemed significantly less irate, leaning towards overjoyed, as he answered with, “Hell yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the USUK Secret Santa 2015.


End file.
